Saved
by Femme Bono
Summary: In answer to the (possibly) abandoned fic, "Save Me Doctor." This story traces Crowley's journey through different 'meat suits' as he traces a path of redemption to ultimately find fulfillment. Starts off Dr Who/Supernatural/Leverage. For Lauren, who needs closure.
1. Chapter 1

**Saved** (a reprieve for fans of "Save Me Doctor" by )

"Weebly wobbly timey wimey," the Doctor murmured softly, shaking his head as he broke through the fathomless depths of unconsciousness.

"Oh yeah," Dean muttered to Sam, "he's cracked like a piñata."

Sam shushed him as the Doctor stopped abruptly, jerking Amy and Rory as they had still been trying to haul him to the car. He snapped, visibly brightened and pivoted on the spot, leaving the other four aghast in his wake.

"That's it, that's what we should have done all along!" he called ambiguously as he dashed back to the TARDIS. "She knew and she followed, and she found him!"

"What the blazes is he on about now?" Rory huffed as they followed him inside.

Dean and Sam shared an exasperated look before they too ducked back inside the callbox.

"She found him the first time, didn't she? That is exactly why we landed when and where we did." He said as he began pulling plugs and flipping levers. Lights and sounds started sparking and chuffing, the whole machine started whirring and Dean gripped the side of the control panel.

"Dude, what the hell?!"

"Wait, wait, are you saying the machine tracked Crowley—Canton, sorry," said Sam, struggling to catch up to speed.

"Well, yes," Amy interjected as the Doctor continued unaffected by the conversation swirling around him. "We touched down to him right at the door and he practically collapsed inside."

"So we just let the Doctor crank her up and she'll take us straight to Crowley," Dean clipped, "but then what?"

"Well, DW, we do our little bit," the Doctor said spinning to face, "you do your little bit, and we all go home happily with Canton intact, no piñata, mess or fuss."

"Okay, but we need a plan for when we find Canton," Sam said carefully.

"Easy peasy," the Doctor smiled and clapped his hands once. "That's where you come in. You're the brains of the outfit aren't you? There's a lad." With that, the Doctor turned back as the machine lurched and everyone aboard grabbed something for purchase.

"Oh God, Sammy, I'm gonna hurl," Dean leaned heavily over the beeping flashing controls and shut his eyes tightly.

Sam's jaw was clamped shut lest he do the same, and he merely nodded as if Dean could see him.

Then, as suddenly as everything had started, it stopped.

They all stood in an eery silence as the Doctor hopped jauntily to the door. Dean groaned ominously and leaned over with his hands on his knees. Rory pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Dean, as the taller man had started sweating profusely, clearly unmoored by his virgin flight through time and space.

Sam, who had recovered more quickly raced the Doctor to the door. "Hold up, Doc! You don't know where or when we landed. There's no telling what's out there." By the time the words were out his mouth, the Doctor was out the door. Sam and Amy both lunged out the door after him, while Rory tended to Dean.

They stopped short just outside the door as they took in their surroundings. Several people garbed in black stood before a throne in a columned room. There, sitting languidly atop the throne, was Crowley.

"Hallo lads," he said lazily. "Come for a cuppa?" The friendly demeanor he adopted when he spoke dropped swiftly. "Kill them," he ordered gravely, and the demons turned and advanced. Sam grabbed Amy and the Doctor and leapt back to the door of the TARDIS.

"Dean!" he bellowed, "we got company!"

"How many?" Dean growled as the three slammed the door shut and braced themselves against it while the pounding started from outside. The demons, determined to get in, were using candelabras and whatever they could find in the throne room to beat down the door of the TARDIS.

"At least ten," Sam snapped back. "Plus Crowley! The nutcase landed us right in the middle of Hell!"

"Ohh great!" Dean rolled his eyes and started patting his pockets for weapons. "I got bupkiss, except for one angel blade and this," he said, palming a small bottle of holy water.

"I don't have much better."

"You guys got anymore bright ideas?" clipped Dean.

"Fresh out, sorry," said the Doctor as he fiddled with switches and flipped dials once again. The machine started up again, the telltale whirring vibrating under their feet.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted at Sam. "Here we go again. I'll be stopped worse than I was on one of Cas's angel flights."

"Should we maybe try to call Cas?" Sam asked, trying to latch onto something viable.

"No need for all that boys," the Doctor interjected. "We are now back relatively safe and sound at Mr. Singer's."

"Great," the boys said in unison.

"Well, what can we do," Amy asked exasperated. "We've still for all intents and purposes left Canton in Hell!"

"Yes, yes, problem that," the Doctor mused.

"We could always summon him," Sam threw out. He ran his hands through his hair as Dean, glanced around for something to sit on.

"We can't summon Crowley," Dean said, gesturing vaguely. "He's somehow gotten around that now so he doesn't have to answer the summons."

"Summoning…," Amy mused. "As in, calling him here?"

"Well, somewhere," Sam conceded, "but Dean's right—"

"Deano is right spot on," said the Doctor brightening. "That is the ticket isn't it?" He spun again and practically pranced back to the initial spot where they had held Crowley. He began wiping at the paint smears and scratches and repairing the sigils that he had ruined.

"What are you doing, Doctor?" Rory asked, as the group filed in. "You heard the boys, we can't summon the demon to this trap if he won't come when called."

"He is not the one we shall summon, Pond the other." The Doctor did not even break stride as he rushed to finish. Amy, cottoning on faster than anyone, started helping him as best she could.

"No, he's right! We can't summon the demon of course, but—"

"Canton!"

"Absolutely," the Doctor chuckled, he sat up on his haunches shining with glee. "Dastardly demon type just hitches an unwilling ride, doesn't he?" He tapped his nose and pointed to Rory.

"Okay, uh, I hate to break it to you guys, but you would need something of his to summon him." Dean leaned in the doorway, looking distinctly unamused and at his wit's end. He rubbed his hands through his hair in such a similar gesture to Sam's earlier one that Amy could see the brothers shared some genetic traits after all.

"We do have something of Canton's," she replied, and she dashed for the voice recorder he had returned to them.

Crowley paced his throne room, having thrown out all of his minions for their ineptitude. If he admitted it to anyone but himself, he was…a bit unnerved at the thought of a Time Lord taking a personal interest in his affairs. Times like these, he was glad he had back-up plans for his back-up plans. He downed a finger of Scotch and grimaced, before pacing to his closet and taking down a magically sealed box. He muttered an incantation, passed a hand over the top, and the box popped open at his caress.

He took out a single piece of paper, making sure the information on it was seared into his brain, and snapped the box shut again. One more incantation later, and it was safely ensconced in the back of his wardrobe.

Picking up his crystal decanter, he made to fill his glass once more when he felt a wrenching pull from his navel. Chuckling darkly he tried once again to pour when a resonant pull from within wrenched him sideways and the glass shattered on the stone floor. "Bollocks!" he said grimly, face set as he knew instinctively what the party that had just vacated his premises was up to now.

He felt the man's soul rising to consciousness at the summons dragging him along for the ride. In a swirl of sound and vibration he felt his tenuous grasp on his meat suit slip as Canton took over and answered the call to his soul.

Crowley was dimly aware of people and talking around him, feeling the heaviness of his magick being tamped down and vaguely aware of Canton telling them things that he would rake the man over hot coals for if he'd had the choice. Then it began. The silly incantation, the magic the Winchesters intoned over his body felt heady and strong. He felt it sucking the very core of him out, strangling with it as if suffocating by magic. He clawed internally at the body he had become so attached to, but to no avail. This time, at last, he was wrenched from the man's body and swirled as a scarlet miasma through the air and away, knowing the Winchester would still track him if they possibly could. With that in mind, he made the best escape he could and cut his losses.

Canton gasped once, twice, and his head lobbed down. He blinked dizzily, and raised his eyes to look around him. "Doctor," he said questioningly, his voice cracking and dry.

"Canton III, is that you?" the Doctor said warily, he sensed the imminent danger had gone. Canton was a threat no more, or at least what had taken up residence in him was gone. Dean held out a hand, as if to hold the Doctor back from stepping over the painted ring, but the Doctor held out his hand as a sign of truce.

"He's gone you know, we saw him leave." The Doctor said placatingly, as they had all witnessed the smoke rising from Canton's mouth as the demon departed.

"Yeah, well you're welcome too," Dean grimaced. "You have no idea how long or how bad I've been wanting to gank that mother."

"Be that as it may, you would have 'ganked' Canton as well, so thanks for not and all that." The Doctor and Rory began untying their friend and Amy made off to make some tea.

Sam drew Dean away to talk to him quietly. "Look man, I'm with you on this. I want to take out Crowley just as much as you, but this was their friend and this is how we started out—saving people."

Dean swiped a hand across his mouth as if he wanted to deny that they had actually done good, and what he was struggling with finally worked its way out at last. "Dammit Sammy, we had him!" he whispered fiercely. "We had him in our hands and had to let him walk."

"He'll be back Dean, you know he comes back like a bad penny," Sam countered, "usually right when we don't want him."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of." Dean planted his feet, hands on his hips. "The next time we have a chance like that we take it, no matter what."

Sam nodded grimly, knowing that the next time the odds may not be in their favor. "Agreed."

Crowley smoked a trail through the ether to the location he had made sure he memorized before he left his chamber. He touched down in Boston, in a well-appointed penthouse apartment, siphoning himself into the mouth of a man he considered plan B. His failsafe, who was much less anonymous than the last bloke, but ultimately more suited in ways and means. He stood from the chair in which his meat suit had been sitting and strode gamely to a wall mirror nearby, one hand tucked in his pocket as casually as though he had always inhabited this body. He stared smugly at the dapper features reflected back at him and uttered his new identity, trying out his new name to see how it rolled off the tongue, "Jim Sterling, Interpol."


	2. Chapter 2

Sterling

Sterling struggled for ages, wrestling with the dark presence that had overtaken him. Crowley, amused by the sheer determination of this newer soul, smugly held him off like a bully's palm to a weakling's forehead. Frustrated, James Sterling gave in, and retreated to a corner of his own mind to regroup and regain his strength. While he waited, he watched.

The demon, for he grimly realized what it was, transported them both back to his apparent residence and opened a box tucked into the back of a wardrobe's shelf. He picked up a piece of paper out of it with Sterling's own contact information—his own business card, in fact. The card ignited between his fingers and the demon looked around. There was no one else in the place, and it looked as though there had been a great struggle. He wondered why the place had been deserted and just what the demon was up to. Crowley. He sensed his name, somehow just knew it, as though it simply surfaced in his mind. He wondered if he watched and waited long enough, what else about the demon would come to mind. And if he could garner enough information to eject it from his person and get on with his life.

He tried to think of how he might be able to get help. Who would help? Would Nate believe him, if Sterling came to him with this? How could he get control to make contact with Nate? There had to be a way…

* * *

Halfway across the country, the impala streaked down a wooded highway, covering as much ground as it could without any problems from the local law. Sam gazed thoughtfully out the window, bracing a hand against his forehead, elbow propped on the door. Dean stared grimly ahead, head bobbing slightly to the sketchy strains of Metallica playing from the decades old tape in the deck. Sam glanced over, not wanting to say what had to be said, but knowing it needed pointing out.

"Dean," he began, the stopped and grimaced trying to find the right way to start. Dean glanced over, eyebrows raised, waiting. "Sammy."

"Dean, we don't have the first idea who to do this," he threw out.

"How to do what? Gank a demon? I assure you, Sammy, we've got plenty of practice under our belts."

Sam hissed out a breath, exasperated. "You know what I mean. We've had to bring down big shots before, but never like this."

"Two words, Sam. Dick. Roman."

"This isn't Dick Roman, Dean! It's an international law enforcement agent."

"I'm well aware of what Interpol is."

"Well, you know we can't just waltz right in and take him out. Not only would we be criminals, but we'd be _internationally_ known. There would be nowhere we could hide on the planet. We can't take him out."

"Ohhhh I promise we can. What other option do we have, Sam? We know who he is, we know where he is, and we have the element of surprise."

"Not necessarily," Sam sighed. "If what Canton told us is accurate, Crowley probably knows he told us and is already trying to cover his trail. Plus, we don't have any indications that Crowley would stay there. He may be back in hell right now and skipped town with the meat suit."

"And he may not have. But we can't just assume anything. This is Crowley! And now that we know about his meat suit, if we can get something of his this time, we can off him finally by summoning him the same way we did Canton. With all the information we have, there's no way we shouldn't at least check it out."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. You're absolutely right. We at least have to check it out. But we can't go in guns blazing on this or he may spook out if he is still around. If he isn't, then we summon him with something of Canton's and do what we have to. If he's there…we'll have to figure out a plan."

"Fair enough."


	3. Chapter 3

Cht 3

Crowley spent the better part of a week squaring his minions away and getting his affairs in order. He put Guthrie in charge as regent with instructions that if he was not heard from in a few weeks, to send a guard of troops. Crowley highly doubted this would be necessary, but he did not underestimate the bloody Winchester trait of screwing up royally enough to get things right. Luck always strayed their way.

He transported himself back to Jim's flat and spent an entire afternoon fielding phone calls and answering emails using information he drudged up from the man's sub-conscious. People were concerned; questions from superiors at work needed to be answered; and he obliged all this, lying expansively about a job he had undertaken that called him away last minute.

Frustrated, Sterling paced in the confines of his own mind. Crowley allowed him houseroom in a chamber he recognized as the demon's own bedroom. He walked back and forth at length, tried the door, which would not budge, laid on the bed, rummaged through the wardrobe. He found the box again, and this time without Crowley aware of what was going on, he performed the same little ritual Crowley had and when it opened, rifled through the information contained therein. He learned about Canton, by reading a similar card; this one he was sure was written in Crowley's hand. Before Canton, there had been a literary agent, and judging by the yellowing of the card stock, that was some time ago.

What Sterling realized he was seeing was a progression of the men whose lives the demon had assumed as his own. He laid down on the bed with the box, raising up the card he had found under the literary agent's so he could read the faded print better. He wondered what they all looked like and what their stories were. It was Sterling's nature to want to know about things, and he felt strongly that there must be some underlying similarity between the men whose stories this demon had known. He had to find out what it was. Things would drift to his mind that he knew were from Crowley's sub-conscious. Surely there was a way to tap into that and bring things to the surface on purpose… Sterling had to find out how.

He dropped the card back in the box-one for an Irish shipping merchant around the turn of the century-and stood up to pace the room again. He took the box to return it to the wardrobe, and as he did, he glanced in the mirror on the inside of the door. He studied the lines of his own face, the three days of scruff that were flecked with gray. What was Crowley doing now, he wondered. As he did so, the face shifted into a smug grin. Sterling looked down and realized that his suit had changed to a sharp black one with a deep crimson striped silk tie. The demon, it seemed, had raided his wardrobe and pulled out a suit he had not worn since his wife died.

He watched, bemused as Crowley trailed through Sterling's apartment, cell phone to his ear, and talked amiably to whoever was on the line.

"Who is he talking to?" Sterling hissed grimly. He started trying to read Crowley's lips, but stopped when a name floated into his mind. _Nate Ford_. "Oh bloody Christ," Sterling moaned. Just what he didn't need. That _would _be an unholy union.

"Why can't I hear what the snaky bugger is saying?!" he said, fisting his hands. Like magic, their voices echoed in his head.

_We could meet, sure._

_Brilliant. Name the time, name the place, we could perhaps discuss a deal._

When he focused, it seemed, on what Crowley was doing, Sterling could tune right in to the demon's actions and what was going on around him. Good, this was good, he thought. Except for the bit about hearing Nate say they could meet. And now what deal would Crowley be wanting to make with him? The very thought left him greatly unsettled, and Sterling turned from the mirror, closing the door behind him. He plopped back down on the bed, piecing together the things he had learned thus far about the demon Crowley, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he pondered. One class A demon, the one in charge of them all, in fact, and Nate Ford. Doing business together.

"This is, none of it, good," Sterling mused. He lay for hours trying to hypothesize what could be going on under his very nose, before finally giving in to an exhausted sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Cht 4 

Sam and Dean rolled into Boston in the early morning hours, opted for the first skeevy hotel they found, a four-floor walk-up with peeling plaster and ominous stains in the decades old carpet. Probably against health code, and probably rented by the hour. No matter. The boys wasted no time searching out the Interpol offices, as well as Sterling's high rise apartment.

* * *

Meanwhile, across town in a local pub, sat Nate Ford and for all intents and purposes, Sterling. They each sat, nursing their Irish, and ruminating about their IYS days and losing loved ones. Nate could not help but wonder what had made Sterling so contemplative and open lately. He wondered if his old colleague was not feeling his age, or Nate thought slightly worried, his mortality. What was wrong?

"Sterling," Nate began, placing his near empty glass on the table and motioning for a waitress. "What exactly is going on?" He watched as the waitress nodded and then moved to the bar for a refill. "You are never this reflective and we haven't just sat and discussed things in years."

"And that's wrong, isn't it?" queried Sterling, waving a hand. "We should have done this years ago, mate. You've been through the wringer; I've been through plenty too. Your son, my wife…" he trailed off, not missing the wince from his partner across the table. Judging the time as right, he moved in for the kill.

"We've been hurt in the past and have never been there for each other. I think the time is well past for us to start. I have a little concern and I would like for you and your team to find something for me. I would be willing to make it very worth your while and it would go a long way toward rebuilding what we lost."

Seeing the other shoe finally dropped, Nate sat back from the table. "So that's all this is, you just want something."

Sterling grimaced, "of course I want something. But I want something for you as well. We could be partners in this, just like old times, and we can help rebuild what we had together."

"Sterling, we never really had a whole lot of anything together."

"Just hear me out Nate, we have enough history for that at least."

Nate sighed as the waitress approached the table with his fresh whiskey. "Hit me."

Sterling hesitated only a moment before pressing on. "You're a good Catholic boy, Nate. How much do you know about Biblical mythology?"

* * *

While Crowley was seeding his con as Sterling, the Winchester boys forged Interpol badges and took their suits to the cleaners. Within an hour, they had gotten themselves a one-way ticket into Sterling's apartment thanks to flashing their badges at the apartment manager, and settled in to wait. One hour later they stood at the ready when they heard a key in the lock. A keypad beeped out the same code the manager had used, and a man let himself into the darkened apartment. Just as Sam flipped the switch, Dean moved with the Colt to a good firing position. The man in the doorway raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light and Sam yelled at the same time.

"Dean wait!" Dean had just been set to fire and jolted at his brother's voice, but lowered the weapon when he got a good look at the man standing before them. There, in the doorway, was a man they had never seen before. Tall and lanky, with brown hair curling slightly around his collar. He lowered a hand and blinked before setting a cynical gaze on the two brothers.

"Hello boys," said Nate. "What exactly are you doing in my friend's apartment?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Our seas 10 timeline is current, minus a few changes. There is NO Rowena. Crowley hasn't got the blade yet, so he hasn't been dissed by Dean…and away we go!

Cht 5

Nate stepped further into the foyer of Sterling's apartment and quietly closed the door behind him. Sam shifted his stance and glanced at Dean, who raised the Colt once more.

"Who the hell are you? And where's your buddy, Sterling?" he growled.

Nate took two more steps forward off the devil's trap on the floor, and Dean spared a glance over his shoulder at Sam. Sam's gaze flicked to the floor, then back to Dean. _Not a demon_, his gaze said. Dean lowered the gun but kept it cocked and aimed at the floor, ready to raise a moment's notice.

"The name's Nate, and you're right, I am a friend of Sterling's. He's told me all about you boys, and that you would most likely be here."

"So what are you doing here?" Sam queried.

"I am here in his stead," Nate replied. "For exactly the reason you said. I am his friend, and he is being held hostage. By whatever is inside him."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean spat. "Are you kidding me? _Again_, we're dealing with this?!"

"Dean, hang on," Sam placated, then turned to Nate. "What do you mean he's being held hostage?"

"Well, it's like this boys," Nate said as he walked to the sideboard table in the living room. He picked up a Baccarat decanter and poured two fingers into the glass he found beside it, then gestured with the decanter to the boys. Sam merely shook his head; Dean cleared the gun and holstered it. "Sure, why not," he said gruffly.

"What the demon told me," Nate continued, "is that you tasked him out to find a relic. A blade that he had secreted away."

"Yeah," Dean said gravelly, "which he double crossed us over and we want back!"

"You weren't double-crossed. He didn't know the full extent of what it would do. That much he asserts is true, and I believe him."

"Believe him?" Sam scoffed. "You heard yourself, he's a demon!"

Nate simply held up a hand for quiet. Dean started to protest again, but Sam gestured to him to be quiet. "Be that as it may, he is not unlike a human in that he has certain tells. I can read people—and apparently demons—fairly well. I'm in the business, you could say."

Nate sat in an armchair nearby and crossed his legs amiably, as if telling a charming anecdote.

"So when Sterling called me, and he began asking me questions about my being raised Catholic, I got a little interested. He wanted me to help him find a relic which he swore was part of an investigation he was doing. The relic had been stolen and he was trying to recover it."

"That limey little mook stole it—" Dean interrupted, only to be cut off by Sam, who was determined to get the story out.

"It was stolen from him," Nate reasoned. "He is trying to get it back, and that's what he wants me to help him with, in order to get him to release his hold on Sterling. The demon was using, as I understand it, a retired Secret Service agent before, but that wasn't going so well. Now he's taken over Sterling's body, and he wants my team and I to recover the artifact so that he can get back to whatever level of hell he's from and move on."

"That'll never happen, you know that right?" Dean murmured. "He's going to keep wearing your pal Sterling as a meat suit and never give that shit up once he's got what he wants from you."

"He'll cooperate," Nate said. "If he doesn't, he knows I'll get a priest and do whatever I have to do to get my friend back. He's not much of a friend, but he's mine, and he's helped me out of a bind or two before."

"Okay, so how are you and your team going to find this thing?" Sam asked at last.

"We'll figure it out," Nate smiled, "it's what we do. And if it should happen to be something…supernatural, we'll hit up you guys and let the experts handle it. Once we have positive control over this 'First Blade' as he called it, we keep it as neutral parties once you boys are done with it. That's part of Sterling's and my deal, as security that you-" he indicated Dean, "—don't go off the rails again, as he put it."

"And where is Sterling now," Sam wanted to know. Dean had grown pensive and quiet.

"Sterling is safe," Nate replied. "I need him to help me narrow down where the blade might be. You boys, I will assume, can stay here if you like. It will make it easier for us to meet up that way. I'll keep you updated on our progress, and if I need to find you I'll look here or give you a call. We'll swap numbers before I leave, if you like. If you have any lore compiled, I would like to take a look at it tomorrow at some point. But in the meantime, get comfortable and enjoy the digs, courtesy of Sterling. I'd say it looks like we'll be working together for the foreseeable future."

With that, he rose and offered a hand to each of the boys in turn before placing the glass on the coffee table and pulling out his cell phone to swap numbers. As he did so, Sam and Dean swapped a look that both understood to mean that they would be having a lengthy discussion as soon as Nate left.


	6. Chapter 6

Cht 6

Sterling had watched the exchange between Nate and Crowley. He discovered that the more he sought to understand what was going on in the demon's brain, the more insight he automatically gained. Every time he focused his intent on hearing and seeing what was going on, then on knowing what the demon was thinking, the tenuous connection between them became that much closer. He discovered after a day or so that if he worked the same magic over the door to his chamber, that he could walk at leisure through the hallowed halls of hell and observe scenes from Crowley's previous incarnations.

Somehow, someway, there was a bond forged as they were connected in body, despite being two separate souls. Sterling could feel the darkness of the demon's essence, but other notions surfaced as well. He felt pangs of different emotions and underlying it all, a yearning. The demon felt unsettled, as though unfulfilled. Sterling found himself commiserating with the depth of depression that Crowley emanated from his very being. At the closest, when Sterling was sleeping usually, he saw flashes from the demon's existence prior. He saw himself as Crowley making deals, ruling over demons, sobbing in a church, weeping openly in a hotel room, and sitting in total darkness shaking with DTs while the voices in his head hammered at a newly resurrected conscience. The latter was the most wrenching scene, despite being void of visual images.

It was at that point that he felt a distinct shift. Crowley, it seemed, had turned a corner there and felt completely unmoored for a time. Through further dreams, Sterling saw him sitting resplendent on his throne, suffering from a dreadful ennui through countless meetings and petitions, scarcely daring to name the unsettled feeling that had taken over him. But Sterling placed it. He no longer wanted to rule. The darkness had ebbed and his soul had shifted to something more complex than a pure evil elemental force. He was in fact, practically human himself again. And feeling remorse for thing he previously had taken pleasure in, thanks to the Winchesters.

Through Crowley, Sterling had seen what the larger Winchester had attempted on him in the church. He knew, through Crowley's awareness what the boys did. And he knew that Crowley, whether he wanted to admit it or not, was on a path of redemption. What's more, he felt Crowley's need for kinship and love, more strongly than any inkling of regret.

Through Sterling's snatches of insight into Crowley's being, he felt certain parallels between his and Nate's relationship compared to Crowley and the Winchesters'. His grudging acquiescence with Nate's devious and sometimes deceptive plans correlated to Crowley helping the boys in his own rarefied way. Sterling was loathe to admit it, but he and Crowley were alike in a lot of ways. He could understand how circumstances would lead Crowley to want possession of his body. Not only was he well able to find the First Blade and help Crowley redeem himself, but he also was a dead ringer—so to speak—for Crowley's many _carriers_. He refused to think of himself in terms of a _meat suit_.

With all these things in mind, Sterling tried something he had not yet considered doing. He reached out to Crowley himself. He watched for the first available opportunity, which did not take long since Crowley loved preening himself, and faced Crowley's reflection in the mirror. Crowley was shocked at first when he turned to straighten his tie in the mirror of a men's room, only to find himself facing Sterling's reflection in his own chambers in hell.

"I need to talk to Nate," Sterling said simply.

Crowley waved a hand at the restroom door, assuring that no one could come through in the next few minutes, as they would see an out of order sign on the door if they approached.

Crowley eyed his doppelganger appreciatively in the mirror with a cynical brow and said only, "brilliant trick mate…and why should I allow this?"

"Because I know what you want," Sterling replied, with a derisive grin and tapped a finger to his temple. "I am in here, you know, I feel all those delicious _feelings_ you're still having, and between you, me and Nate, we can get your blade."

"I see," Crowley replied, eyes narrowing. He refused to show his admiration of the human for being able to gain access to his mind, nor the fear at the fact that his secrets might be on display for this virtual stranger. "And what's in it for you?"

"First, I am not, as some would believe a bad man," Sterling answered, "and using my access in law enforcement, your knowledge of all things dark and mysterious, and Nate's incessant skill at stealing any and everything, we can crack this thing wide open. Second, the sooner we get it back the sooner I get my body back, per your deal with Nate as stated."

Shrewd, Crowley remained silent for a moment. Sterling then hit upon a plausible compromise.

"Look mate, I want to help you, I do," he urged, "so when you meet with Nate next, at least make sure there is a mirror present like this, so I can get my two cents in as well. How's that then?"

"Very well,"Crowley reasoned.


	7. Chapter 7

Cht 7

It happened just as Sterling requested. He gave points to Crowley for showing integrity and going with it. That seemed to be something that Crowley prided himself on—his integrity. At the heart, he was a business man. Sterling respected that.

When they first started discussing what might have happened to the blade, Crowley had to go back through the story of the blade, but Nate quickly zeroed in on how he and Dean had found it and who had it when they arrived. Several pertinent questions later, Crowley felt a right idiot and Sterling felt a smug admiration for his friend. It all made sense when he thought about it in retrospect. Cain was the first demon after all. He only had to walk right into hell, as if he owned it. He was the only one who had magic powerful enough to crack open the vault that Crowley had sealed with enchantments, and he was the only one who would be able to waltz right in and take something without any demons telling on him. They would be in mortal fear of Cain, more than they ever would Crowley. It was the _only_ thing that made sense. Crowley's hubris had been to believe that another demon—the chief demon, truth be known—would not do such a thing. Actually, he had not even considered it.

Nate was sure of it, and the more Crowley considered it, the more he was too. After all, Cain wanted Dean to return and kill him; he had even _told_ Squirrel to do it. How better to accomplish this than to steal the blade back, thus ensuring that they all track it and Cain down. Then he would be ready and waiting for Not Moose to return and do what Cain had bid him to in the first place. Bloody hell. But how to get the mark off Dean? How indeed... Crowley's brain kicked into high gear, ticking away at how to unthread this nasty knot. Sterling, keeping a close eye on Crowley's thoughts, pondered it through with him. And together, they hatched a plan to cure the Winchester, slay the demon, and right the colossal wrong that Crowley had unthinkingly wrought.

* * *

Dean and Sam did the same thing as always—as soon as they knew where the blade was, they hightailed it and tracked Cain down, right back where he and Dean had met. Sam and Dean rolled up in the Impala, stopping before the white frame farm house and looked around, scanning the yard and bee hives beyond for a trace of the age-old demon. They looked at each other speculatively for a moment, and Dean started to turn away before Sam's strangled cry stopped him. He knew, before he even turned. Cain was right behind him.

"Hello Dean," Cain said in measured tones. "Long time no see, son."

Just as Dean turned to speak, Sam called out his name and it jolted him into a swift lunge, as if he knew what was about to happen. He dropped swiftly enough to dodge the arm that swung up with the blade, slicing through the air in a killing arc. Dean rolled even as Sam crossed the hood of the car to help his brother. Sam swung his own knife at the demon, who appeared several feet closer to where Dean now stood. It may not do much good, Sam reasoned, but it might slow him down.

Dean grabbed Cain's killing arm before he could strike again and grimaced as he willed the mark back onto Cain's arm. He did not have a chance to complete the transfer before Cain wrenched out of his grasp and sliced at Dean again. Dean swung his left arm around the one in which Cain held the blade, pinning him in place, and head-butted the demon in the face. The blade dropped to the ground and Dean swiped it quickly, jabbing the blade into Cain's side. Cain dropped to his knees and looked up at Dean gratefully.

"Thank you," he said, "for a warrior's death. It's all I wanted anymore."

Blood seeped out his mouth and nose, a clear sign of internal injuries. The demon was dying. Dean grimly grabbed Cain's arm again, and this time he transferred the mark back, curing himself. Cain merely nodded in understanding and took one last gasping breath before he dropped, eyes vacant and staring. The first demon was dead, and Dean Winchester was clean of the mark.

Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as his elder brother rose from his knees.

"Come on, man," Sam urged. "Let's blow this joint."

"He died a warrior's death, Sammy," Dean said shaking his head, "he needs a warrior's funeral too."

Besides, Dean reasoned, best to make sure the demon couldn't come back. They would take the precautions they should have taken with Abbadon, and salt and burn the bones.

Hours later, when the flames had died down, he and Sam drove through darkened night, the blade in a locked and warded box in the trunk, destined for their father's old storage room where it could be kept safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Cht 8

Sterling once again stood facing Crowley in the mirror. The Winchesters had secured the blade at an undisclosed location and were not telling Crowley or Nate, just in case Crowley could weasel it out of him. In the meantime, they were on their way back to Boston where they wanted to personally exorcise Crowley from Sterling's body, or at least witness his departure. They would be arriving within minutes.

For Sterling's part, however, he was a bit hesitant after learning all he had about the man. He no longer thought of him as a demon, the darkness had ebbed to a murky grey that he had a feeling his own soul mirrored. There was so much insight into Crowley that Sterling felt almost that Crowley was a part of him and did not know how he would go on not knowing what would happen to him.

Crowley himself wondered where he would go. The day before, he blipped back to the throne room only to tell Guthrie good luck. He was abdicating, he said, and the whole pit could go to pot for all he cared. Let someone else worry. "_Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown_," he muttered softly as he traipsed through the halls to the sound of screams echoing off the stones.

Now he stood, facing Sterling in the mirror, the man whose life he had assumed for days and he felt a pang of both regret and jealousy. Sterling had both a career and friends. Crowley no longer had even a purpose, and definitely no friends. He could go back to the crossroads, he supposed. That did not hold any glamor for him there. He had already reigned as king of the crossroads and had done it well. Been there, done that. He still felt compelled, he thought with an uneasy shrug of his shoulders, to be Dudley bloody Do Right. He was not a nice person, he fully admitted, but grudgingly admitted now at least to himself, he wanted to be a good person. Bugger it.

"Can we talk?" Sterling's reflection said.

"Sure, why not," Crowley answered glumly.

* * *

The Winchesters arrived and Crowley decided he just may as well get down to it. He sat himself down in a chair, or sat Sterling's body down in a chair rather, and with the Winchesters keeping a close eye, he smoked right out and drifted away. Nate, who had promised to attend, rubbed a hand over his face and left the room, clearly unnerved by what he had seen. He too, in his own way, had formed a grudging attachment to Crowley.

For the Winchesters, just seeing the scarlet smoke drift away was nowhere near enough. Sam hastily drew an anti-possession sigil on Sterling's upper left arm and Dean urged him to get it tattooed on as soon as possible to keep Crowley—or any other demon for that matter—from being able to possess him again. They pointed out that Nate may want to do the same, as the other man stepped quietly back into the room and sat down facing Sterling.

"How are you feeling?" he asked his old friend.

"Fine, mate," Sterling replied with a sigh. "Just fine."

It was a strangely somber scene as the Winchesters packed up what little they had brought and left, the devil's trap by the door had long since been cleared up. The men shook hands, gave awkward one-armed hugs, and promised to keep in touch should either of them ever need the others' services. Both knew they never would.

"Good-bye boys," Nate said softly, as Sam closed the door behind them on the way out. Nate and Sterling, who had both been eyeing the door as the boys left, gave it a minute before they went to the balcony and watched the boys pull away in the street below.

"I suppose they're gone then mate," Sterling said first.

"I suppose they are."

And with that, they walked back into the apartment, closing the French doors behind them. Sterling rolled his sleeve back up, licked his finger, and rubbed some of the ink off, smearing the sigil. The minute they sat back down, scarlet smoke erupted from Nate's mouth and siphoned its way back into Sterling's. He resettled himself in the seat and his eyes flashed once. Nate looked at the man expectantly.

"Thanks ever so much boys," Crowley replied. "You won't regret this."

"Like I said before Crowley," Nate said gravely, "if I ever do, it's a priest, the Winchesters, or I'll find a way to kill you myself."

"Understood," Crowley nodded.

"You help Sterling with his cases, and help me and my team, and we don't say a word. The minute Sterling wants you gone, you're gone, no excuses, tricks or cons."

"None whatsoever."

"Deal?"

Crowley smiled sardonically, one side of his mouth quirking up. He cocked his head to the side as if pensive, then stuck his hand out to shake. "Deal mate."

Then he blinked, and Sterling took over. The demon had finally found a home. He even found love, of a sort, from men devious and cunning enough to understand his own mind and to allow him to be freely himself. For the first time, Crowley had friends and he was safe.


End file.
